The next day I got a job driving a dump truck for a small paving company. As I hauled a load of gravel through the center of town， I saw Shep standing on the sidewalk near the bar. I yelled to him and thought I saw his tail wag. His reaction made me feel good.
After work I bought three more cans of Alpo and a cheeseburger. My new friend and I ate dinner together on the sidewalk. He finished his first.
The next night， when I brought his food， he welcomed me with wild enthusiasm. Now and then， his malnourished legs buckled and he fell to the pavement. Other humans had deserted him and mistreated him， but now he had a friend and his appreciation was more than obvious.
I didn’t see him the next day as I hauled load after load up the main street past the bar. I wondered if someone had taken him home.
After work I parked my black Harley on the street and walked down the sidewalk looking for him. I was afraid of what I would find. He was lying on his side in an alley nearby. His tongue hung out in the dirt and only the tip of his tail moved when he saw me.
The local veterinarian was still at his office， so I borrowed a pickup truck from my employer and loaded the limp mongrel into the cab. “Is this your dog？” the vet asked after checking the pitiful specimen that lay helplessly on his examining table.
“No，” I said， “he’s just a stray.”
“He’s got the beginnings of distemper，”the vet said sadly， “If he doesn’t have a home， the kindest thing we can do is put him out of his misery.”
I put my hand on the dog’s shoulder. His mangy tail thumped weakly against the stainless steel table. I sighed loudly. “He’s got a home.” I said.
For the next three nights and two days， the dog—I named him Shep—lay on his side in my apartment. My roommate and I spent hours putting water in his mouth and trying to get him to swallow a few scrambled eggs. He couldn’t do it， but whenever I touched him， his tail wagged slightly at the very tip.